women say they want a sensitive man but they mock me when i sit at the piano crying for hours holding a lighthearted paper candle and a smile tucked in between my lips
they say they want a hard working man with ***** fingernails but
they claw at me if i turn a sun-browned shoulder against them in bed
they say they would love a cultured man but they cringe when i kiss them with lips tasting of whiskey & cigar smoke or touch them with fingers gentle as soft old paper
they say they dig the cold but they huddle in blankets when i stay up all night dancing naked across the lawn listening to joni mitchell in january
they say they want their own sugar space but turn sour when i linger and wake up dreaming of becoming an astronaut
they say they're comfortable with my past imperfections but it's my fault when i have a nightmare about being strung out on the perfume of another woman
they want a man who can write a song but they struggle when i anchor a poem to their delicate ankles and fill their empty rooms with shamefully broken pencils
they love my beautiful tattoos and piercings but shake me when i spend days wrapped inside a coral shell singing a lullaby
they want the idea of a man they've read about in books but won't tolerate me when i read them the atrocities in the sunday paper under the lampshade of an oak tree
women say they'll take me as i am but get lonely when i wander for a week and come home buried in the scent of a rock and roll bar
they say they make friends easily, like me, but can't stand to come home to talking & laughing cynical & drunk in a house full of strangers
they want a quiet man who loves them like the stars but scream when i learn to fly at the mercy of the weather & can't be captured
they want to live naughty with the thick musk of a man but act bewildered when they're caught soaking wet and weak in the knees
women say they love men with a tolerance but get jealous when i'm dizzy drunk at dawn on cheap tequila and the memory of my mother
they want a man who lives inside a corridor of words but hate me when they realize artful compliments are only cages of pretty lies
they're helpless for a man with grace but hate me when i'm pitiful and clumsy in the dark after blowing out candles and closing windows in the middle of june
they say they'll only fall in love with a lover of music but audibly cough when i hush them as Coltrane makes dazzling sodium fall across my face
they all wish for a man with careful eyes
but mine are blue and empty in the end
& it gets lonely
so i will no longer carry a song for them in my heart
like a trail-weary cowboy
no lust
no memory
no guilt
no cups
no whistles
or jewels in my vulnerable shadow